


Grumpy Old Spies: You don't have to play it Blue

by Batagur



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batagur/pseuds/Batagur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is time to select agents for "The Training."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grumpy Old Spies: You don't have to play it Blue

Illya Kuryakin had learned how to perform fellatio while he was at Sorbonne. Bernard DuVoe, a handsome, young history student had taught him everything he needed to know about making love to another man. DuVoe had taught him how to share the pleasures, give and receive. DuVoe had taught him how to touch, lick and suck a man in a way that would make him want more. Bernard DuVoe had taught him to look up into the man in the eyes as if his cock was the single sweetest gift he had ever received. 

Napoleon sometimes did this very thing to Illya even now in their senior years. Napoleon would pick up the rhythm, his tongue swirling in perfect counter-point to the beat. Just then, Napoleon would look up at him with a scorching, brown-eyed gaze, and, frankly, Illya would lose control. He had been know to grab Napoleon's ears like handlebars, letting all his legendary discipline go to chaos when Napoleon looked up at him like that. 

That had always been a point of irritation to Illya. After a round of particularly satisfying fellatio, he would have to pay for the pleasure by dealing with the man's insufferably oversized ego. Napoleon Solo's hubris on all matters sexual was as big as all-outdoors. 

In the beginning of their partnership, Illya had just assumed that Napoleon's sexual prowess only pertained to women. He had also assumed that his success had come from years of personal trial and error mixed with that omnipotent Solo luck. Later, as Illya became more familiar with Napoleon Solo, and much more familiar with the full expectations of a Section Two operative, he came to understand that his partner had been specially trained for seduction. That training had included homosexual seduction talents as well as heterosexual. Illya had only had a cursory training in 'honey-trap' tactics like most Section Two agents. Only a special few were pulled aside to receive the *whole* training. And of those few, only a very special, hand-picked few were given the education that included same-sex sensual arts. That small sub group often checked out in psychological evaluations as being capable of handling bi-sexual job demands.

Illya wondered why he never checked out in this category. He asked Napoleon as they went over a stack of new applicants for The Training. 

"I believe, if I remember correctly, Mr. Waverly told me that Section One thought it best to protect you from suspicion of corruption. I think they thought the Soviet Government would pull you if they saw any of your job activity as more beyond the expected call of duty."

"So I could be shot and left for dead every other day, but I couldn't go and seduce some rich, old THRUSH money launder who happens to like blond boys."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Napoleon replied. "Waverly knew what you did in the KGB. He also knew what you did in college. What he didn't know was what the Kremlin would consider acceptable. After all, the front they put up was not always consistent."

Illya glared at Napoleon. How had Waverly known what he had done in college? Then he stopped his thoughts and chastised himself. I should not be so surprised. I work in the business of secrets. I should know that to my employers, I have none. Certainly the Kremlin knew… 

That had to be the only reason why he had been used as bait a few times in the KGB instead of just being shipped to a labor camp or an asylum. 

"Nevertheless," said Illya. "I feel as if, perhaps, there was something more that Waverly may have felt was missing from me psychologically to make me capable of such an intense level of seduction training."

Napoleon sat back with a thoughtful expression. Illya watched as Number One, Section One of North America mulled over his suggestion. 

"Certainly you were always capable of it," Napoleon mused out loud.

"Of course," Illya said and regretfully noted the peevish tone of his own voice. He didn't want to sound like a sour, old field retiree, but he had to admit, he was a bit miffed at the idea that he may have been considered 'incompetent to perform' in one area of his job. Perhaps it was a touch of vanity on his part, but Illya had always tried to be realistic about his skills. He understood that he could not have been the pure, undiluted walking sex that Napoleon had been in his prime (and, to some extent, still managed to be). However, Illya knew that he could have performed adequately if he had been given the broader opportunities. In the end, he had felt like the vanilla-sex agent of the team, while Napoleon was the Shurbert swirl. 

"But then again,” Napoleon continued, “I always thought your skills were wasted when you were asked to do the romance end of a snare. You seemed to walk into those assignments like someone had a gun to a kitten's head somewhere."

Illya snorted in amusement. He knew that he did manage make his displeasure at such assignments known in his posture and his tone, if not in his actual words. Waverly had to have known that honey traps bored him. He did them because he had to, not because he liked to. Napoleon, on the other hand, had gone into them with great enthusiasm. 

"That type of assignment was not my strong suit," Illya admitted. "But I just wondered why I never received The Training."

"I think I answered that question." Napoleon smiled as he leaned towards him, smiling that wicked smile that could make Illya's paints grow uncomfortably tight at the crotch. "You have talent, torvarisch. You didn't have to play it blue."

Illya staunchly decided not to rise to the bait. Instead he went back to the list of candidates before him. The Training, officially known as Advance Seduction, was not taught in Survival School. It was a seminar that came later to a few agents who showed aptitude in gentle persuasion. It usually took place at about an agent's second year of field duty. An agent could apply only then, and, with the CEA's recommendation, their application would move on to Number One, Section One, who would hand down the final approval. 

Napoleon was good at this. He was an excellent judge of character and could tell spot-on which agent could make the cut and which could not.

"Cho," Illya read the name from the application.

Napoleon sat back, looking off to the side as he brought the agent in question in mind. "Yes," he finally replied.

Illya put a check beside the name.

"Baylor," Illya said.

Napoleon's brow furrowed slightly. "Poor boy does try… but no."

Illya put an X beside the name on the application.

"Foxx."

Napoleon reeled forward with a look of utter shock. "You have got to be kidding me!"

Illya regarded Napoleon steadily. "And why not Foxx?"

"That cold-blooded, surly, anti-social mongoose?" Napoleon spouted. "He has all the charm of a calculator! He couldn't make decent conversation if you pump him with sodium pentothal and sat him in a room full of beautiful, desperate women. The man has the personality of a fire plug and the disposition of a saltwater crocodile."

"You often compare him to me," Illya reminded him. 

Napoleon's mouth shut abruptly.

Illya watched Napoleon, and, for a while, there was silence in the large office. Finally, looking back down at the paper, Illya lifted his pen to mark Foxx's application.

"Wait," Napoleon breathed out on a sigh. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Even though he is surly and has the charm of a calculator?"

"Yes!" Napoleon growled.

"Even though he is not good at conversation and has the disposition of a saltwater crocodile?"

"YES!" Napoleon roared. 

Illya marked Foxx's application with an X and slid it across to Napoleon. "He has talent. He doesn't have to play it blue."

End


End file.
